Guilty As Charged
by leroyjenkinsthe45th
Summary: What if Alaska Young had survived her devastating wreck? A mixture of drama and light humor ensues as Alaska continues to be... well, Alaska. DFTBA R
1. Chapter 1

I sat up and put my hands over my head. I could smell smoke from my failed attempt. I could even fail at failing. I had to take short, fast breaths, letting the shock set in from watching my life flash right before my eyes. _Everything's fine, Alaska. Everything is going to be ok._

But It wasn't fine. I had just crashed. I had almost killed myself, and then what? I guess I really didn't think that out.

There was the sound of boots hitting the ground as someone was walking towards me. I squinted my eyes, I could feel the heat of a flashlight. It felt like someone had a hot pipe on my forehead, the light mixed with my dying buzz made me almost vomit.

"Mam', you need to get up." The cop I had just crashed my car into was now standing over me.

I nodded my head. But I knew I couldn't get up. If I tried I would just fall down. My hands were sweaty, I couldn't see straight ahead without wincing, and I'm sure I still had alcohol on my breath.

He bent to his knees and put a hand on my shoulder. "Mam. Just, please get up. "

_It's going to happen eventually. _I put my hands under me in order to get a feel of the rough blacktop. I pushed myself up slowly, trying to do my best not to look like a total dumbass.

"There we go, now get into the car."

I swerved as I was standing up. "Which one."

He rolled his eyes. "Wow, y'all really are drunk now aren't ya."

It wasn't a question, it was a fact.

I bent over and put my hands on my knees. "I think I'm going to puke."

That was not a question, it was a fact.

"Don't puke on me, go to da' side of the road."

So I did. I ran over to the edge of the road, down the ditch and hurled. Hurled out everything, everything from last night. I might have felt a little Miles Halter come out of my throat. It looked like a canvas, a canvas of shit. Green and orange shit.

Then I pulled some crazy shit off... I ran. I sprinted over the other side of the ditch and ran into the thicket of trees that briefly surrounded both sides of the road.

I was drunk, fact. I tripped as soon as I entered that playground of a forest. Some shitty rock I tripped over. Getting back up was pointless, so I just sit there, waiting for someone to come over and put me in handcuffs. _This is a terrible way to get arrested. _Usually when I get arrested I go down in style.

Not this time. I could hear the moving and breaking of twigs and branches in the background, and before I knew it someone started to drag me out of the woods. I could tell by the massive, wrinkly hand on my shoulder, this was not the same person I was dealing with earlier. _Well this is civil._ "Sir." I began, "Would treat your fellow man like this?"

No response. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

By this time we were heading down the ditch outside the woods, only a couple of yards from the road. It felt like being a snake without all of the hissing, and also without and control of the body. I had to lift my head so it was chess grated by the blacktop once we had reached the road.

"You have the right to remain silent." Said the cop (which I was glad we was) as he put me in the backseat of his car. He got in the driver seat, the cop I had talked to earlier was writing shotgun while smoking a cigarette. He turned around, "I forgot to tell ya', you have the right to remain silent."

I did not do that. I gave them hell all the way to the hospital.

* * *

Present

Wait, Hospital? We're pulling into a freakin' hospital.

I crammed my head in between the two front seats. "Why are we going to a hospital?"

The cop gave up trying to ignore me. "Stantard procedure for an underage drunk. Over 21 and we put in you in dark room for 8 hours.

_I don't believe that._ "Bullshit."

"Slam!" Both cops closed there doors, and mine is opening. Somebody's grabbing my hand. Some cop that's ate one to many donuts. He unblocked my seatbelt and began to pull me out. "Come on, pottymouth."

"Let me go or I'll say you raped me!"

To Be Continued


	2. Chapter 2

I don't remember anything after that. I woke up in small dark, room that smelled like things I dare not repeat. Because trust me, I know what they smell like. The only thing that I could see was a small source of light coming out the crack in the wall that was directly across from me. _I guess I passed out._ I was free to move, so I guess that means I'm not being held against my will...

After staring at the walls for like thirty minutes I got my ass up and went to look for an exit.

First wall, nothing. Second wall, same thing. Third wall, dito. I stood in front of my last hope for escape. I felt every nack and crevice of that wall. Nothing, just the cold, dark surface of cement against my hands.

_Oh shit..._ I slammed my fist against the wall. "Let me out of here!"

I could hear someone moving in there chair from further down the hallway. "You have the right to remain silent."

Why does everyone say that? "I repeat, let me out!" No response. Only the sound of my loneliness. The air was damp and my throat was starting to hurt. I think the affects of my hangover are just now starting to settle in.

After awhile I gave up worrying and lay my head down on the hard concrete to try to get some sleep. Closing my eyes I play pretend I'm back at school in my own room.

That didn't last long. I woke up from the sound of a door opening. _Wait? A door? _"When did that door get there?"

Some dumbass cop came in and grabbed my arm. He pulled me out of the room. "Only one knob, outside."

"Was I in there because I was drunk?"

"Yes."

"I thought you had to be over 18?"

"Not when your _that_ drunk. You ran straight into a cop car and then tried to run away from the scene of the crime." He was saying this using a soft, hissing voice. Like that somehow was suppose to make more guilty than I already was.

I didn't return eye contact. "Now what?"

"Now you go court."

I nervously rubbed my hands together. "What's bail?"

"Five-hundred dollars."

_Shit. _I put my head down in defeat. I let the officer show me to my cell. When I went in and set on the bed (which the prior cell did not have), the cop just shook his head and closed the door.

I rolled my eyes."What, you think I haven't been here before?"

He shrugged his shoulders from behind as he walked down the hallway.

The bed was old, rusty, and stiff. Just like the last time I was here. I put my hands over my head in disbelief. I wanted to be mad at the alcohol that turned me into a dumbass the night before, I wanted to be mad at the cop that was just doing his job. But to be honest, I have no one to blame but myself. Why do I always do this?

I sat upright and put both arms under my chin. "What was I so mad about anyway?"

Thirty seconds later

"Aaaaaah, LET, ME, OUT!

My hands were shaking, tears were falling right and left. _I can't believe I forgot._

Usually it takes a couple of minutes, but one of the cops was already turning the knob to my door. Another new guy, or should I say older guy that I just haven't met before. Most his mouth was hid by a terrible walrus mustache. He was tan skinned with blue eyes, his face was starting to show signs of wrinkles, so he was probably in his late 50's. "What are you talking about"

My head was between the open door and my cell. I unsuccessfully made an effort to stop sniffling as I tried to explain to him, "It's her, the anniversary!" He looked at me, very seriously.

Then the door slammed between my head and the wall. I stumbled back inside with my hand covering my face.

"Don't bother me unless it's something important, bitch." Then the door shut again.

My face was wet. And I can't tell if it's from tears or blood or a combination of both. Out of good habit I automatically applied pressure to my forehead, revenge would have to wait. And after a few minutes I finally took my hand off from my forehead. Blood was coming off my forehead and I could feel a gash where the door had hit me. So I just sit there, with my hand against the cut, and I cried. Cried like never before.


	3. Chapter 3

Day 2

Somebody woke me up the next morning. and took me to the phone booth. I don't think it was a cop. It was a lady with dark-blonde hair wearing a feminesque suite. Not a lesbian type suite, but one that allowed her to show off her curves and other feminine goodies, while maintaining a business-type format.

When we got to the phone booth she stepped back and grabbed my shoulder and leaned in. "You have one call, make it count."

I stepped up to the booth and started to play with my hair. _I don't know anyone's number. _There's no point in having a cell phone at culver creek, and besides what number would I have called that I already know? My Dad's? No thank you!

I have never needed Miles or Colonel's numbers. There like half a football field away from my room. Never have I needed their numbers', until now.

"Sometime today." She was playing with her phone.

_Somebody's getting pushy. _"I've got an idea."

She looked up from her phone only to quickly return my glance, then her head was back down. "What's your idea"?

"You let me borrow your phone."

She hit a button on her phone and then put it in her pocket. "Why would I do that"?

"Because your phone has internet."

"And"?

"I want use the internet to look up a number."

I wanted to punch her as she rolled her eyes and took the phone out of your pocket. "I'll do it myself, just tell me the number." Her hand, which from some reason I wasn't able to recognize earlier: had a long, black tattoo of a tremble clef. It moved as she pointed to me. "What's the name"?

"Umm, Chip Martin. State is Alambama."

"Is this one of your schools friends."

"Umm, yeah."

"Then just call the school."

I don't know who I want to hit harder, the lady or myself. *Huff* I pitched the phone back up and dialed the number to culvert creek.

*Ring, ring, ring* "Hello."

"Yes, who is this"?

"Who is this"?

I moved the phone across my head so it would be closer to my mouth. "Listen missy, I don't have time for this. Find Chip Martin and get him on the..." She hung up. That bitch hung up on me.

"Shit"! I held the phone close to my chest. "Can I call someone else"?

The lady looked both ways then whispered. "Yes."

_Hopefully better luck this time. _I called the school again.

*Ring, Ring, ring* "Hello"?

I took a deep breath. "This is Alaska Young, I need to talk to Chip."

There was a pause. "I'm afraid I cannot do that."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CANNOT DO THAT"! I'm pretty sure there were fumes coming out of my nostrils.

Laughing, on the other side of the line.

"Listen mother fuc..."

"I'm just joking with you Alaska, geesh. It's me."

"Chip."

"Yeah."

"You don't sound like Chip."

"Well you don't sound like Alaska."

I don't think anyone sounds like themselves on the phone. "Fair enough Chip, if that is your real name. What's my..."

"Seriously are you Alaska"?

"Seriously"?

"Yes."

"Yes."

Another pause. Then it was like my phone exploded. "We thought you were dead! Or kidnapped! Or worse, partying without us!"

I rolled my eyes. "Nope to all. Unfortunately I'm still alive." Then I whispered, "I need your help."

The lady behind me tilted her head in curiosity. "Don't worry, I'm a lawyer remember." She stuck a finger in each ear, "Lalalalalalalala."

"Alaska, where are you"?

"Don't worry about that. Con up five-hundred dollars and bail me out of the local jail."

"I don't have five-hundred dollars! How in the world could you expect me to have five hundred dollars! I..." Typical Chip, he didn't give a shit that I was in jail. He would rather complain about having to cough up five-hundred dollars.

So there I was. At a telephone booth, in jail, with a bad scar on my face. Listening to my lawyer pretending like she was pretending not to listen, and Chip bitch about his financial stability. The whole ordeal would have been pretty funny if it wasn't for the context.

I start to grind my teeth together. "Alright you little bitch. There's three-hundred dollars under my bookshelve, good luck getting it out. The other two-hundred dollars you are going to have to figure out for yourself.

I swear I could hear him grin through the telephone. "That's more like it, I knew you could be reasonable Alaska Young."


	4. Chapter 4

I had to spend the night after the phone call in a cell. The worst part of it was the smell. I swear, last time I was in a cell it did not smell like this. It was like wet dog mixed with dead bodies. It wouldn't suprise me if there were dead bodies below my cell. Living dead bodies, waiting to eat me or have sex with me.

What? That's how it goes in the movies anyway. Plus who doesn't want to have sex with me.

I just sit at the cell door with me legs crossed Indian style, thinking. First off that's kind of racist for me to think that Indians had one particular way of sitting. Maybe they like sitting with their legs straight-out. Maybe, some white guy was scalping an Indian, and in the irony of it all he decided to name his sitting style based on the circumstances. Shit! I'm being prejudice again! Why does it have to be a guy doing the scalping, it could very well be a girl. We give birth and shit, why can't we scalp Indians. I was also thinking about how big of a douchebag that officer was when we slammed the door in my face, maybe if he was looking back at a big muscular man when he was about to slam the door he might have thought twice, but alas that was not the case. Assumptions are dangerous, and if there's anyone here that will get there ass kicked before I leave this building, it will be him... And that thought got me to thinking about why women look at each other the way we do, we look at each other's beast, legs, etc. Most men don't do that, or at least I don't think so... Example, "Hey dude, why can't I have that?"

"What?"

"A butt like that guy, it's perfect."

I don't know, just trying not to think about IT. The IT that got me here. I put my head between two of the iron bars that made the 50's styled jail door and sighed. And that was when somebody came by to unlock my door.

"Someone's here to see you."

"Ok." We walked down the cruddy jail hallway that was filled with mold and STD's. I always looked straight ahead, I looked so straight ahead that I don't even know if there were other jail cells in the hallway. The right turn that lead to the lobby was the only thing that registered in my mind. Who and what was going to bail me out... I could really use some fine wine about right now.

Walking into the lobby was like going into a different world. It was fairly pretty, the chairs, walls, and carpet each gave off a different color that contrasted well with the others. The lobby also, unlike the rest of the building, was actually clean. If you didn't know any better you would assume the place wasn't THAT bad. So I spit on the carpet when the guard turned his head. There was no one else in the room, but in the office in front of the lobby I could see the Secretary having a conversation with two invisible people because the freakin' wall got in the way. The nice, bright orange wall that was oh so deceiving.

So I was left to stand there looking like an idiot. So finally after a couple of awkward moments waiting, I finally saw the two people... Great, this is just my freaking luck.


	5. Chapter 5

**A note from the author**

Hey guys! I am really having a lot of fun writing this story. Alaska is one of the most interesting and humorous characters of any fiction book that I've ever read. I am certainly not up to par with John Green, but I try to portray her as accurate as possible. I would like to continue this, but I have no idea if anyone is enjoying reading this. So please leave a review, favorite it, or message me if you want to see it continued. Frankly, I don't care what you guys do as long as I know whether to continue this or not. I don't want to continue to write something that no one enjoys, or reads for that matter. Thanks


	6. Chapter 6

This is literally the last person I want to see right now. So I tapped the guards shoulder, "You can take me back to my cell now."

He just shook his head, "He just bailed you out."

"Does that mean I have to leave?"

He unlocked my handcuffs.

"Some kind of cop you are!" He didn't get a chance to respond, because I was standing in front of Miles Halters. He shoulders shrugged, demeanor bleak, and eyes lifeless. I would have assumed he was drinking the night before, not me. He looked so scared that I almost felt sorry for him, almost.

At that moment I decided the best thing to do was to not let him talk. "Lets go pudge, what are you waiting for? Someone less attractive?"

Pudge pulled my keys out of his pocket. "I'm driving."

The ride back to Culver Creek was awkward to say the least. Miles looked really upset, so I just left him alone. The entire trip not a single. Word. Was said.

When we got back Miles (Pudge) immediately exited the vehicle and walked away. I quickly got out and followed right behind him. "Keys, please."

"No."

"What do you mean no? Give me my keys!"

"No."

"Give me my keys or I'm never gonna to take you to McDonalds ever again."

He turned around and looked directly at me. Then he shook his head, and he tossed me the keys. "Incredible." He mumbled, while turning around to walk away.

I would have rather he just have punched me in the stomach. It would have felt a lot better. I threw the keys down, and then plopped down beside them on the ground. I guess the reason it hurt so much was the fact that he wasn't angry enough to yell, or sad enough to cry. He was just disappointed, like he had given up on me. I guess that's why it hurt, I've never had someone just give up on me.

I just sit there and cried, cried like a teenage girl, oh wait.

People kept walking by and asking about the crash, if "I was ok?", "did I get hurt?", "why was I crying?" I couldn't really see anyone, and I didn't really care what they had to say. The best thing to do is to just nod your head and wait for them to shut up and leave.

Where the frig was the Colonel? He was the one that was suppose to have picked me up in the first place!

I went by Miles and Colonel's room and left a note on the front door for the Colonel,

Dear Colonel,

Come by my room and stuff, we need to talk.

P.S. Most people would put a sincerely here, but I'm not that sappy.

Alaska

I went to my room and sat on my bed. The place was a bit trashed from the night before. So I did nothing to clean it up. Instead I decided to read one my books that wasn't washed away by the weekday warrior's prank. Some book about about Voltaire, which would usually sound very interesting, but there is like a million different thoughts going through my head at once.

_You've really done it this time, Alaska._

_Why did you brake? Well?_

_Slut, slut, slut, slut, slut_

_Where's Momma?_

"ENOUGH!" I swear, the entire school probably heard that, and if they didn't they will hear about it tommorow... My heart felt like it was in my head, thumping and thumping and thumping, like it wanted out of it's cage. I looked down at my chest.

"Oh, dear heart, how will you ever escape this labyrinth?"

Getting out of bed might have its own repercussions, like passing out. I hate passing out. As long as I continue to live on this earth (not very long, but the world has a way of keeping me around) I like to have control of my body, like as in not having to worry about falling over every time I get up...

Man (woman should work as a phrase as well, male pricks), it would suck to be a fainting goat. They don't necessarily pass out, they just lose control of there bodies. I read that from one of my books, that now looks as if it was retrieved from the Atlantic Acean. Stupid weekday warrior's.

I stopped mid thought because I hear footsteps approaching my door. There was a knock on the door, and then he entered.


	7. Chapter 7

The colonel walked in shirtless and sweaty. The sweat gave his belly an unpleasant gleam, he had a jug of ambrosia in his hands.

"Really? Out of all the times to be drinking, you come in her half naked with a half gallon of liquor in your hands. I said I wanted to talk to you, not have sex with you."

Colonel did his best Jack Sparrow impersonation (which was piss-poor at best) and slowly whirlwinded his way to the floor. Spinning the jug with one hand like Sparrow, "those are interchangeable."

_I guess I'll have to wait to talk to the colonel. _"Come back when your sober." And with no argument he did, that is, he tried to get up and leave. Feeling good about myself I waited until he was walking out the door, "take some acting classes while your at it".

Now I could let the Colonel piss on my afternoon (because he's probably pissing on something), but I'm not going too. I went straight to the "lounge" that is: a small room with a t.v., and I sat down, pulled out the remote from under the couch and hit the power button. The pixels popped on the middle of the screen and spread to the entire thing in just a matter of seconds. I heard static, and then "Ooh, ooh, oh." Different levels of moaning. And I swear I heard "that's not legal" over the picture of... never mind.

I threw the remote against the wall. "Why does everyone watch porn in here! I'm mean really!"

I don't know whether to feel sad for the person(s) that had the balls to bring this trash in here, because one: if this is suppose to be a prank, it really sucks. Two: it's not very smart to leave the porn, if it wasn't a joke. Or whether I should just really be angry, the way they portray women, is relatable to the way whales are treated by seaworld. Without the sex... probably. Men, take notes, there is nothing more offensive to Alaska Young than misogyny. Nothing.

So I took out the disc and tried really hard to snap it in-two. Instead I end up taking it to Lara's room.

Knock, knock! "Lara, trade me DVD' s!"

Door opens, "Wat do yoo want?"

"Something that's not in Romanian..."

I was cut off, Lara engulfed me in a bear hug. "We were all worried about yoo."

I had to roll my eyes at that. Not because I thought Lara _didn't _care, she did care. "Don't be, I'm fine."

"I heerd yoo wrecked?"

"Sort of."

"How?"

_I wasn't supposed to be here. _"I don't remember, everything from that night is a blurr."

It's not like I wanted to lie to Lara. Besides, a lot of that night _was _a blurr.

That was how the conservation continued for the next ten to fifteen minutes. Then, once I had left, I realized we never got to trade movies.

_Great, I'm stuck with this porn. _It's really sad that people spend money on this trash. I never had to watch porn, I was to busy _doing it._ Sex, that is. Not the porn.

Normally it's times like these that I would go and visit Miles. Which is really sad, because everything else needs to fail before I even consider looking in Miles direction. Besides, there's absolutely no way he would to talk to me now. I'm not for sure he would even open the door if he heard my usual army-style door charge, or as I call it, knocking.

So instead I decided to wait outside his room. Eventually he would have to come outside, and_ eventually _talk to me. But let's not get carried away, I'm taking this one step at a time.

The sky was like a trail of fire, occasionally interrupted by a cloud or two that smudged the glare.

Clouds, very interesting. How did they cheat life? I'm really, I get the whole "not living part", but almost everything eventually dies.

Trees, die.

People, die.

Some materials that we never thought could be destroyed we now know can be. I swear if I could be anything but me, I would be a cloud.

And that's how Myles caught me, staring into the sky with my mouth agape. I wonder how long he had been standing there. I was sitting down and that makes it much harder to see anyone because of the glare. The reason I could tell it was Myles was because of his puny stature. He wasn't looking at me, just staring into the sky like me.

Then he shook his head, "Is there a reason your out here?" It wasn't a hostile question, more of an open-ended question.

"Umm... yeah. I thought we could talk."

"About?"

"Everything." I know that sounds cheesy, but it was the first word that came out of my mouth. And sometimes, I honestly don't think I have control over my words. There is no stop sign in my brain to tell me otherwise. I say what I think or feel.

"What's there to talk about?"

Ok, that pissed me off. "What do you mean! There's literally thirty different topics we need to discuss, I counted them in head while I was waiting."

"Like what?"

"Don't belittle me! Seriously, if we're going to talk then let's talk. But if your going to run in circles... then screw it! I'll just wait out here until your ready."

I hadn't even finished the last word of my mouth when the door shut.

Normally, this is about the time when I should start crying. But really, does crying make anyone feel better? Your just left with strung out emotions in the form of snot and tears. So as a form of coping, I sat on the dirty floor and argued with myself.

_Obviously he doesn't care._

Obviously he does, or he would have been such a douche, duh.

_Really? You made absolutely no effort to keep me out there. Make him talk to you._

No, that is a terrible idea. Forcing someone to talk does not make the situation better. Miles will talk when he is ready.

_You're insane._

Well... can't really argue with that one.

I went back and forth until the sun had finally set. There was nothing left to look at the but the half-moon shining in the pitch black sky...

To be continued


	8. Chapter 8

Eventually, I did go back to my room. I had to let the whole ordeal sink in before I could go back (to my room), the starting point of this debacle. And before I go any further, let me say this: I. do. not. want. your. pity. I do not want anyone to feel sorry for me when I opened the door to my room and walked directly over to last night's leftovers. By that I mean the rest of the liquor.

Let no pity come upon my soul when I grabbed a cup, brushed some random strands of hair out of my face, and pulled my head back to chug down the remainder of my wasted life savings.

Swug! My throat is conditioned to the acidic feel that comes along with drinking. I pursed my lips and let the evil sensation send shivers from my head down to my toes.

After a couple moments of hopeless drinking i realized that men had indeed objectified the art of alcoholism. First off, it's called one _man_ drinking games.

Like a woman totally couldn't play it better. I have never lost a drinking match, that I remember... Either way women find it offensive.

*L*4*A*

10 minutes later, offensive meant that I don't want to be in this scenario. This is not fun.

I was on the floor moving my hands up and down like I was making a snow Angel. Back and forth, back and forth. While my head popped up and down (in a not-perverted way), vainly attempting to follow the motion of my arms.

This went on until my hands started to burn from rubbing against the floor, and the back of my head felt like someone had shoved a brick into my parietal lobe. Eventually I stopped, the room was too dark for me to tell whether my hands were bleeding or if it was just carpet-burn. For a couple of moments I just lay there staring at the moon: the only source of light. My breathing was slow, but my chest would slowly move up and down, kinda like waves on the seashore.

*L*4*A*

That's how I woke up the next morning. Laying on the dirty floor.

Excuse me, _my _dirty floor.

Knock, knock!

_Oh Shit! ... _

Then I thought about it, would getting away from here really be that bad? No more Miles, no more gossip, I can definitely find sex and cigarettes elsewhere.

Knock, knock!

So, to get back to my original point I was trying to make last night: No remorse should be generated from the human brain when I do something stupid. Like picking up the cups, planning out how I was going to tell the Eagle who all I had slept with since I had got back, and giving the Eagle my own "bird".

Knock,knock!

"Okay, okay! Give me a minute."

Door opens. "You look awful."

"Shit, Colonel. I thought you were the Eagle." He looked dressed for a funeral: slacks, a nice velvet button-up shirt, and a pair of nice dress-up shoes that quite frankly looked out of Colonel's price range. "Where are you going to, a funeral?"

"Your breath smells terrible."

"I get it, asshole."

He rubbed the bottom of his nose while maintaining eye contact. "This outfit is for special occasions. It's the only nice outfit I have. When I heard about your wreck, I assumed you would be in the hospital, or _worse_.

"Damn."

"Yeah. Anyway since it had already been drug out, I just decided to wear it."

"What's the special occasion."

His eyes stared into me like I was a ghost. "I'm alive, aren't I."

**To be continued**


	9. Chapter 9

The awkward conversation came to a stopping point when the Colonel said, "the Eagle wants to see you". Any sentence that ends with "the Eagle wants to see you" kills a conversation.

That happened around five minutes ago. Now, I'm walking across the campus to the Eagles office. Spring was really starting to make its mark: the once flooded-marshy wasteland has transformed into a beautiful landscape filled with dandelions, freshly cut grass, and a radiating Sun that lit the place up like a Christmas tree.

It makes me want to throw up.

It also made me run into the door of the Eagle's office/home/masturbation chamber.

"Come in"

All of sudden a wave of doubts hit me._ What if he knows I was drinking? What if he knows I was behind the the firework prank? What if he is just tired of my shit and wants to get rid of me? _

The more I thought about it, the less open I was to the idea of getting kicked out of Culver Creek. I can't leave this place. Where the hell would I go?

Home?

Hell no.

I grabbed the bronze doorknob with sweaty hands and a heavy heart. Then I slowly opened the door. I saw the Eagle's head slowly rise up from his desk.

"Alaska, come in."

There was a brief pause, I considered the offer. Then... My inner me struck.

"Fuck this shit." I slammed the door behind me and sprinted for my car. I don't why I was sprinting. I mean really, what was the Eagle going to do?

I was just in one of those moods. No one could stop me, no one could talk to me, and no one could listen because I wouldn't know what I was saying anyway.

After a few minutes my smoking lungs started to catch up to me and I started to slow down. One foot gliding past the other became one foot became a pair of shoes seeing who could closest to the other without hitting. I could hear myself breathing and before I realized it I was facing the door to my room.

_Makes sense, I need to get my stuff before leaving._

My room was always and will always be a mess, no matter where I live. But this, this is insane. My room had papers, cups, and wet and dry books alike scattered across the _clearing_. Or that's what it was supposed to be the called, mine should be called _the_ _ambiguous. _Get it, because it's not clear!

Never mind.

Then I realized: the thought of packing everything in my room is what really intimidates me. My room is always this messy.

_I cant leave the books behind._ Half of my books managed to be trashed with me living in the room. I can only imagine what would happen if I left the books unguarded. Also, my books have always been there for me, whether they like it or not. What can of friend would I be if I left them for dead?

I closed my eyes and gave myself a brief moment of silence. Every time I touch one of my quenched books I get really upset. Like finding Kevin Tall and waterboarding him upset.

The book's hardcover had become a crusty shell to the papers it protected. It started strong and determined, shelved and guarded. But in the end it just couldn't hold up to the pressures of Culver Creek.

I scooped the book up instead: the ideal way of keeping the hardcover intact with the inside. I proceeded to do this with every book. Like a new born child they were delicately lifted from the floor, held with care, and escorted to the car.

I walked by a couple of students, but no one bothered to say anything like "Hey Alaska, why the hell are you taking a handful of wrecked books to your car?" Or "You don't appear to be in a healthy state of mind. Maybe you should take a break from mysteriously hauling off books to your car."

So I continued, because it appeared no one cared anyone. Who knows, maybe they thought I was too far gone anyway.

On my last haul, this time with the normal non-flooded books, I bummed into a weekday warrior. I had seen her before, but she was younger, a freshman I assume

She had long, curly bonds hair and was rather tall for her age. Perky curves and a flat stomach. Her face was what gave away her youth, because the rest of her body certainly didn't.

"Umm, do you need help with that?" She pointed to my books in hand.

"No, thanks for asking though." I put my head down and almost barreled past her, but she stuck her shoulder in front of me... And it hurt.

"Ouch."

"Look, Alaska, that is your name right?" She didn't give me time to answer. "Whatever your... doing" she said as she suspiciously eyed my books, "make sure it's not something that's going to get you in trouble... or killed."

That's the nicest thing a weekday warrior has ever said to me. So I flipped her off and sped back up to my brisk pace. No way some curly haired bitch was going to go all Dr. Phil on my ass. I appreciate the effort though.

I took it all in: the weird ass hallways, the hideout were we smoked more cigarettes than the average diner waitress, the store where I bought my liquor with my feminine charm, the buffriedos and their crunch, the gym that looked like a hangar where the Colonol has a solid streak of getting kicked out to maintain , pissing off the Eagle for the fun of it, weekday warrior's and the problems that revolve around them, and finally: my friends.

I'm not mad at any of my friends, how could I be? My friends are great.

Lara's genuine kindness and concern, at the same time having a serious badass streak.

The Colonel, what can I say? We're partners in crime. Best friends for the past three years.

Talkumi: the fucking Fox.

Then there's Miles Halter. Who I am going to forget starting right now.

After dropping off the final set of books in the backseat, I went back to my room to get the necessities like food, water, and toothpaste/toothbrush. Yes, tooth paste is a necessity.

I told myself I wasn't going to cry when I left my room for the last time, and I didn't. But walking across the campus and all of its glory on the way to my car, it was on my mind.

And when I got into the drivers seat of my car, I cried like a baby.


End file.
